


Gingerbread Fish

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: Aramis and Porthos's One Night Stand. There's surprisingly little sex, but that doesn't matter, because they do eventually get orgasms.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CanadianGarrison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/gifts).



Aramis pushes the bloke against the wall of the lift, using an arm to drag his head in close and kiss him. It presses all the buttons and for the first three floors they ignore the doors dinging open every landing, but by the fourth Aramis's companion is having hysterics against Aramis's neck, and Aramis gives it up and laughs too, pulling away. 

“Well that was smooth of me,” he murmurs. 

“Wasn't expectin' smooth. Not when I met you... was that dancin'? Definitely not expectin' much co-ordination.” 

“Hey, I'm a wonderful dancer,” Aramis says, then laughs, harder than is possibly sane. 

“You're drunk.” 

“So are you,” Aramis retorts, grinning, kissing again, tugging at the man's curls. “What's your name, anyway?” 

“Doesn' matter,” he growls, kissing Aramis this time, and it's a good kiss. 

The doors ding again and the lift comes to halt, not starting even when the doors close. Aramis pulls back to see if they're stuck, but- 

“This is the end of the ride, boys,” Aramis says. “Dead end junction. Nothing but the end of the track.” 

“I'm on five, did we go past?” 

“We're on...” Aramis squints at the little buttons. “Eight. I think. Or six. Or nine. Not really all that sure. Is that bit a circle-y bit or a loopy bit?” 

“You're a loopy bit.” 

They're kissing again, and this time it's Aramis shoved against the wall, and Aramis pushing all the buttons. 

“We're pushing all the buttons tonight,” Aramis says. “All my buttons. Shall we get off, this time, or ride it all the way down and walk up?” 

The man is laughing too hard, and he's heavy and big and pressed against Aramis, and so they miss the floor again. They get off on four, buzzed and half-hysterical, and stagger up the stairs. 

“Ohh,” the man says, swaying in front of a door. 

Aramis pushes under his arm and looks at it with him. 

“Is it the right one?” Aramis says, squinting at the number. “Is yours six? Or nine. Or eight. Is that a loopy bit, or a circle-y bit?” 

“You're circle-y. I haven' go' m'keys. M'Porthos, by the way. So you know.” 

“Uh oh,” Aramis says, good naturedly. He's not too worried- he's pretty sure he's okay with hallway sex. “We can do it here,” he says cheerfully. “Or the lift again. I liked the lift. I liked the ding noise.” 

“I didn'. No. Nope, no cushion. Gotta just do it,” Porthos says. 

“Cushion?” Aramis says, frowning, lips moving over the word a couple of times. His tongue's numb. 

“He means 'question',” a quiet, frustrated voice says from behind them. “Again, Porthos? Seriously?” 

“Nope. I jus' found 'em!” Porthos says, turning to Aramis with keys in hand, beaming with pride. 

Aramis nudges him, giggling, helping guide his hand to the door. Porthos struggles with it, and the posh newcomer sighs and looks to be interfering. Aramis holds up a hand to stop him. 

“Let him do it,” Aramis says, sternly. “He can do it. He found them, an all. We were gonna do it in a lift, so this is good.” 

“Ding!” Porthos says, opening the door proudly and stumbling into the flat. 

Aramis stumbles after him, and the posh bloke stumbles after both of them. Aramis wonders if he's drunk, too. Then Aramis wonders if he's going to be having sex with them. The lights go on, and Aramis sizes the new guy up. 

“Okay,” Aramis says, grabbing the guy's belt loops. “You can come. We'll just share, mmm? Not bad at sharing, me. Got five sisters.” 

“Five? Crikey,” Porthos says, unlatching Aramis from the posh bloke. “This is Athos. I ain't havin' sex wiv 'im. He's my flat mate. But, sadly, not my bat mate.” 

“What's a bat mate?” Aramis asks, blinking at Athos. 

“He's still cross because I don't like Batman,” Athos says. “Are you two going to have sex, or are you going to hang around and annoy me?” 

Athos moves off, and Aramis follows him, curious. Athos has a Tesco bag. Sure enough, Athos heads for the kitchen. Kitchens mean food. Aramis sits himself down on the floor and waits, patiently, hoping he'll be offered some. Athos looks down at him, eyebrows raised, and all he draws out of the Tesco bag is coffee. 

“Porthos, your friend is strange,” Athos says. 

“No,” Aramis says, frowning. “I'm a stranger. And only to you. I know Porthos. Met 'im at a bar, didn't I? And he told me his name and everything. And he's hot.” 

Porthos comes and sits next to Aramis. 

“This is fun,” Porthos says. “We gonna have kitchen floor sex?” 

“We could do that,” Aramis says, bending his head close to Porthos to whisper. “I was hoping food might appear.” 

“It won't,” Athos says. 

“He wasn't meant to hear that,” Aramis says. 

“He hears ever'thing,” Porthos says. “Food. Don't think I have any food. I ate it all.” 

“Did Charon come over tonight?” Athos says, sounding angry. “You got high with him, didn't you? That's why you have no food.” 

Porthos nods sadly, curling into himself a little bit. Aramis hugs him to cheer him up. Then, curious, he sticks his tongue in Porthos's ear. Porthos jerks, then bellows out a laugh, head tipping back and whacking against the cupboards. 

“Ow,” Porthos says, frowning. “How'd that happen?” 

“You are drunk and high, that's how,” Athos says. “Go on, get off the floor and take your friend to bed, see if you can have sex so quietly no one hears you.” 

“That sounds like boring sex,” Aramis says, stroking Porthos's hair. 

It's soft hair, and curled like springs, growing wildly out of his head. Aramis pats it, then tips Porthos's head back into the cradle of his elbow, so he can stroke Porthos's cheek, and run a thumb over his stubbly chin. And kiss him. 

“God. If I make you toast, will you go away?” Athos says. 

“Yep,” Aramis says, pulling away and getting up off the floor. 

He watches Athos making toast and spreading peanut butter on it. Athos offers him a glass of water too, and Aramis eats leaning against the sink, sipping water between bites. 

“It's good,” he offers, smiling. 

“You have peanut butter in your teeth,” Athos says, wincing. 

“Sorry,” Aramis says. 

He finishes off the toast and sips some more at the water. 

“Well, there goes your chance for sex,” Athos says. 

Aramis looks back at Porthos, who's now sprawled over the floor. He snores monstrously, suddenly, making Aramis jump and giggle. 

“Shall we leave him there?” he asks Athos. 

“Better not. Come on, Porthos, you great lump.” 

Athos crouches and pats at Porthos's face until he wakes up, then heaves him off the floor. Aramis is impressed. Porthos is big, but Athos definitely lifts to get him onto his feet. 

“A little help?” Athos says, strained. 

Aramis ducks quickly under Porthos's other arm, and they trip and stumble their way to a bedroom. It's a nice bedroom, and the bed looks nice and soft. Aramis's buzz, just alcohol unlike (so it seems) Porthos's, is beginning to fade and he's feeling tired. He's also beginning to feel that he's not behaved entirely considerately here. He turns to Athos and offers an apologetic smile. 

“Oh don't worry about it,” Athos says, before Aramis can say anything. “He hardly ever does things like this. Do you want a cup of coffee? It's good coffee.” 

“Yes please. It'll sober me up enough that I can get home.” 

“No, don't do that. You can sleep here. He invited you, it's only fair. I hope you're not an axe murderer, that's all.” 

They sit at the kitchen table and Athos provides coffee. A few giggles escape Aramis, but otherwise they keep a companionable silence. Athos gets up for a second cup when Aramis is only half way through his first, and brings biscuits back. Home-made gingerbreads, shaped like fish, with candied peel colouring the fins. 

“These are amazing,” Aramis says, unable to keep silent, a second bite already in his mouth. 

“Porthos makes them,” Athos says. 

“Why are you drinking coffee at one in the morning?” Aramis asks, biting off the tail. 

“I'm doing a split shift, got to go back to work in half an hour. It's two, by the way, not one.” 

“Oh. Night shifts? Um... nurse?” Aramis guesses. 

“Wrong. Care work.” 

“Huh. I would've pegged you for some kind of fireman or doctor or policeman or something.” 

Athos's lips twitch a little, in what might just be an almost smile. 

“I used to be a fireman, as it happens,” Athos says. “Gave it up. You?.” 

“I'm a nurse,” Aramis says. 

“How did you meet Porthos?” Athos asks, then shuts his eyes and shakes his head. “Duh. Sorry, stupid question. I assume you were at a bar.” 

“Yes,” Aramis says, laughing. 

Then he tells Athos about Porthos insulting his dancing skills. To his surprise, that makes Athos laugh. Aramis looks up, smiling. The man looks younger when he laughs. 

“I was very drunk, and I get uncoordinated with wine, and I was having fun. I was probably quite spectacularly awful, to be fair,” Aramis says. 

“This is an incredibly bad one night stand,” Athos says, smiling. “Oh, Porthos.” 

Athos sounds very fond, and very amused. Aramis finishes up his coffee and cookie and sits back. They talk for ten more minutes, then Athos gets up and goes to shave, coming back out in a uniform that's half apron, half tunic, and entirely awful. He looks good without the five o'clock shadow, though. Young. 

“Seriously,” Athos says, putting the mugs in the sink and the biscuit tin back in its place. “Sleep with Porthos. He's not going to notice. Just be kind to him in the morning?” 

“Will do,” Aramis says. 

He considers pressing his 'decent person' credentials, but decides not. He sees Athos off, then flicks off the lights and crawls in with Porthos. It's not easy to get to sleep with Porthos snoring like a buzz-saw, but the snoring is at least regular, and Aramis's mind slowly accepts it as white-noise, and he falls into a deep sleep. 

“Oh God. Please tell me we didn't have hallway sex and get caught by Athos.” 

Aramis wakes to a croaky, sleep-rough voice, deep and rumbling. He snuggles further into the pillows, ignoring it. 

“Christ, I don't even remember your name,” the voice says, then laughs ruefully. “Not sure I remember my name right now. I'm gonna kill Charon. What the fuck did he give me? Seriously, did we have hallway sex? I don't feel sore. I remember riding the lift up and down, but after that everything's a blur. 

“Shh,” Aramis says, flopping a hand about. “Sleep s'more. 't'll help y'remember.” 

The voice laughs again. Porthos, Aramis thinks. That's the blokes name. Porthos. He cracks open an eye and sees a naked back, the waist of some boxer shorts, an arse that looks good even in crinkled underwear. He reaches out to have a grope, feeling entitled to that much after missing sex last night. 

“No sex,” he adds, as an afterthought. “Your housemate made me toast, and you fell asleep on the kitchen floor.” 

“Dear God,” Porthos says, sounding muffled. 

Aramis opens his other eye and gets up on an elbow. Porthos has his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Aramis thinks he's crying for a second, and feels horribly awkward. Then the sputtering noises clarify into laughter, and Porthos straightens up, twisting to look at him, rolling back into the bed. 

“It was spectacular,” Aramis says, grinning. 

Porthos laughs harder, reaching out to grasp Aramis's arm. 

“Ding!” Porthos manages, laughing harder. 

Aramis laughs, too, enjoying Porthos's mirth more than finding it particularly funny. Porthos's face is all crinkled up, eyes shut, and he looks lovely. Aramis stops laughing, remembering seeing this face last night, in the dim lights of the club, and then in the brighter light at the bar, and then under a street light. Remembers thinking 'beautiful', each time. He cups Porthos's face and kisses him, impetuous and silly. 

“Oh,” Porthos says, pulling back, laughter subsided, too. 

They do end up having sex, after all. It's really rather nice, because instead of being a drunk tumble, it's a slow exploration. Porthos explores with his mouth, which is wonderful, really. Aramis ends up sprawled like a star fish across the whole bed, sticky, breathless, and glowing with exhilaration and adrenaline. 

“This is the best way to have a one night stand,” he decides, Porthos's lips against his neck, Porthos a heavy weight draped over him. 

“Mm,” Porthos agrees, panting. “Good.” 

They stay like that for quite some time, but then Porthos rolls off and gets to his feet with a long groan, stretching hugely. Aramis enjoys the view, arms behind his head, and Porthos turns, smiling. 

“Shower?” Porthos asks. 

“Together?” Aramis suggests. 

“Well, sure, but I'm not up for shower sex,” Porthos says, looking a bit awkward. 

“Aw, shower sex is great,” Aramis says, crawling off the bed and trying to entice Porthos into it. 

“It's ludicrous,” Porthos says, against Aramis's lips. 

“We could have mutually appreciate shower wanking, instead of shower sex?” Aramis offers. 

Porthos does his roaring with laughter thing again and crowds Aramis down the hall to the bathroom, both still completely naked. 

“Good night after all, then?” Athos's dry voice says, from the living-room. 

Porthos starts, and his head comes up, thumping into the wall they're awfully close to pushing one another against. 

“Fuck! Ow!” Porthos says. 

Aramis darts for the bathroom, shutting the door. 

“Nicely done,” Athos says. 

“Did I do that last night, too?” 

“Mm. Kitchen counters,” Athos says. 

Aramis stifles laughter, realising Porthos is having a civil chat with his flat mate, bollock naked, with no shame whatsoever. 

“I think I've got a bump. Come feel,” Porthos says. 

“Get your bloke to do it. He's a nurse.” 

“Did he now? That's interestin'. How'd you know that?” 

“We had coffee.” 

“Did you?” Porthos says, laughing. “Didn't get his name, by any chance?” 

Aramis sniggers, and turns on the shower to give them some privacy. He leaves the door unlocked, figuring Porthos might still want to take him up on shower wanking, and that Athos know he's in here and is unlikely to barge in. Aramis gets a head start on the wanking, just in case. Porthos comes in a few minutes later, a plaster stuck to his forehead. 

“Did he stick me with dinosaurs?” Porthos asks, climbing into the tub and under the spray. 

“No, it's Dora the explorer,” Aramis says, peeling the plaster off, a bit bemused. 

“I said I had a headache,” Porthos says, taking the plaster and sticking it to the wall and kissing Aramis. “He stuck that to me.” 

“He just carries Dora the explorer plasters around in his pockets?” Aramis asks. 

“One of his ladies is a bit child-like, and she gets a kick out of them. Athos likes making them happy, so he gets a selection. They're only like a quid from Wilkos.” 

“Bless him.” 

Porthos laughs. 

“Don't let him hear you say that.” 

“I believe I overheard that you might possibly need a good going over by a nurse?” Aramis says, bored of Athos now. 

“Mm. Maybe I do.” 

“Do you know my name, yet?” Aramis asks, running his lips over Porthos's neck and shoulder, feeling over his head for real. 

“Not a clue,” Porthos says. “Roger?” 

Aramis laughs, then finds an actual bump and laughs harder. 

“Ow,” Porthos says. 

“Sorry. I didn't think there'd actually be anything. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. Think that one's from last night,” Porthos says, a bit rueful. 

“I'd better check for another, then,” Aramis says, feeling down the back of Porthos's neck, over his shoulders, round to his chest. 

“Don't think I bumped there,” Porthos says. Then he changes his mind. “Actually, maybe I rammed me nipples into the wall. Better check those.” 

Aramis laughs, leaning into Porthos. It takes them a while to get to the actual wanking, and the hot water goes before Porthos has an orgasm, so they end up with a literal cold shower. Porthos still manages to come, though, which impresses Aramis. Who leaps right out from under the cold water. 

“Bollocks,” Porthos says, turning off the shower. 

“What?” Aramis says, opening the shower screen to see is Porthos has covered the walls in jizz, or something. 

“There's no towels in here,” Porthos says, looking apologetic. “I'll go first. Christ, this is a terrible one night stand. I still don't even know your name. Silvester?” 

“Nope.” 

Porthos walks back out into the flat. Aramis hears Athos laughing, then Porthos pops back in with a stack of towels. 

“He put 'em outside the door,” Porthos says. “I didn't need to go parading out like that. I tripped over them.” 

Aramis laughs and takes a towel, wrapping it around Porthos, pulling him in for a kiss. 

“I think this is the most accident strewn one night stand I've ever had,” Aramis says. “But, I have enjoyed myself, so I draw the line at 'terrible'. Thank you.” 

Porthos groans. Aramis wraps the second towel around his waist and walks back through the livingroom. Athos isn't in there, but there's a smell of wonderful coffee coming from the kitchen. Aramis scrambles for the bedroom and hurries to dry himself, hoping to get some. He hops out, pulling on a sock and his jumper, and stumbles into the kitchen to find Porthos already there, sat at the table in his towel, damp back by the stove. 

“Coffee?” Athos offers, giving Aramis a cup without waiting for a reply. “I was going to have cornflakes for breakfast, but Porthos has suggested he makes pancakes, and I'm hardly one to turn those down.” 

“I make a mean pancake,” Porthos says. 

“I liked your gingerbread,” Aramis says, suddenly remembering. 

Porthos's neck goes a little bit pink and he ducks his head, smiling shyly at Aramis. 

“God, Porthos,” Athos says, frowning. “What is in your hair? Did you not just wash?” 

“Ah,” Porthos says, pulling his head away from Athos's questing hand. “Could be, um, spunk.” 

Athos draws back quickly, face twisting in disgust. Then he leans forward and peers at Porthos's head from a safe distance. 

“Unless you're incredibly weird, it's not that,” Athos says. 

“How'd you know?” Porthos says, twisting his head as if trying to see. 

“Well, it's orange, for one thing,” Athos says. 

Aramis sniggers into his coffee. 

“Porthos, what the hell?” Athos says. “There's seriously something wrong with you. How did you end up with electrical tape in your hair?” 

Athos disentangles little bits of orange tape and drops it on the table. Porthos stares at it, then raises a questioning look to Aramis. Aramis shrugs, as surprised as they are. The coffee is good, though, so he's not too bothered by it. If Porthos has some tape fetish, so be it. 

“Oh,” Porthos says, face clearing. “I think it was Flea.” 

Aramis pauses. 

“You have fleas?” he asks, wary. 

“No. Not fleas. Flea. She's a mate. She works at a pub. She was trying to tape up a broken computer cable,” Porthos says, smiling. “Dunno how that ended up in my hair, but Charon was high as fuck last night, an' I was flirtin' with her, so... Charon probably tried to tape me up.” 

Athos sighs and cajoles Porthos out of the kitchen to get some clothes on. Aramis, feeling the gallons of wine he drank last night, tries to make himself one with his coffee. Athos comes back and sits with him, but seems to not need conversation. Porthos comes back and clatters about, whistling and then singing. 

“How are you not hungover?” Aramis moans. 

“He's still drunk,” Athos says, eyes closed. “When he's sober, he can sing.” 

“Yup,” Porthos says. “Still a bit plastered, mate. Here, have a pancake. I put blueberries in. I think they're blueberries, anyway.” 

Porthos and Aramis frown at the plate that's just been set in front of Aramis. 

“They're blueberries,” Athos says. 

“Should he be using a stove?” Aramis asks, tucking in. “Oh my god. No, I take it back, I don't care. Burn us to the ground, just make me more of these.” 

Porthos plonks a bottle of maple syrup on the table, and then flips two more pancakes onto his plate, into a stack. 

“Made 'em American,” Porthos says, happily. “So they're all fat and sticky. Like me.” 

“Porthos,” Athos says, long suffering. 

Aramis just eats. Good coffee, good food, and conversation at two am. Maybe he should just marry both these people and be done with it. Settle down and live in their kitchen, eating and drinking good things. He'd bet Athos can pick out a good wine, too. He has that look about him. Though, that could be the renewed five o'clock scruff and tired ruffledness of him. 

“I'm going to bed,” Athos says, when Aramis has consumed his own and Porthos's weight in pancakes, and Athos has had six. “I would remind you that you have work this afternoon, Porthos, but you know that.” 

“Shit,” Porthos mutters, looking at his watch. “I had forgot. Ath! Set me an alarm!” 

“Set it yourself.” 

“He'll set it,” Porthos says, smiling. “I'm going to have to kick you out, though. Gotta get a few hours kip before I'm on, or I'll be fucked.” 

“What do you do, anyway?” Aramis asks. 

“Firefighter,” Porthos says, grinning. 

“Is that where you met Athos?” 

“Huh? How'd you know he was a fireman? Oh yeah. Midnight chats while I was unconscious. Right. No, I met 'im years and years ago.” 

Porths laughs happily, draining his coffee cup and getting up. Aramis follows suit, and they gather his random belongings before going to the door. Porthos kisses him, and gives Aramis his number.


End file.
